


Looked in the Mirror (But It Didn't Look Back)

by raracatsputin



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Agender Character, Agender Soul, Gender Dysphoria, Nonbinary Character, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 11:59:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5584615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raracatsputin/pseuds/raracatsputin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They look into the mirror, and all they can see is Him. Him, that reminds them of what they never can escape. Him, is who they never wanted to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looked in the Mirror (But It Didn't Look Back)

It starts when they wake up.

 

Soul isn’t fully awake yet, but can already tell what is going on. They can’t find the strength to get out of bed just yet, opting to rest for a moment. They figure that if they don’t open their eyes, then they are still just blackness and nothing. They aren’t  _ anything _ , but they know that once they open their eyes, they will see that they are  _ something _ . The  _ something _ they were born as, the  _ something _ they don’t want to be.

 

As they wake more, they can hear Maka’s footsteps. They hear the  _ tap tap _ as she walks fade and come closer as she moves around the house. She’s probably been up for hours, silently doing chores. Admirable, Soul thinks, how she can drag herself out of bed. Especially on a Saturday. 

 

Their chest starts to ache, and they know that it’s unavoidable. From years of experience, they’ve figured out the routine it has. The second they doubt their biological body, their identity, their chest tightens. It feels like someone push a golf ball into it, and touching the area physically hurts. Then they find that they have to actually think about breathing; if not, they gasp for breath every few moments. It’s a torturous routine, but Soul has lived through it before.

 

The alarm beside their bed goes off. It was only set to make sure they get up at  _ some  _ point, instead of sleeping all day. Still, they are irritated and are half tempted to cut the alarm in half. That would require more energy, though. So, they settle for turning over and shutting it off manually.

 

Soul’s eyes are open now, meaning it is useless to try and lay in bed any longer. It’s a slow process to get out of the bed, but they manage. They’re standing and stretching in a few minutes, hearing their joints pop and crack pleasantly. Maka’s footsteps slow, they notice, so she must have heard them wake up. Meisters are too observant.

 

A pile of somewhat clean clothes leans against the wall, and they gather an acceptable outfit from it. It’s the shirt they wore yesterday; however, since no one  _ saw _ them wearing it, it doesn’t count. Before leaving their room, they take a quick breath in, and head out.

 

By some coincidence, Maka is right outside their door the second it opens. She is a ray of sunshine personified, and Soul knows they look like a trash goblin. Smell like one too, probably. Yet she doesn’t comment on it. By now, she knows how Soul is. 

 

“Good morning, Soul.” She grins fully.

 

She is a ray of sun shine as a person, and they envy and adore her smile.

 

The happiness she radiates allows them to return the expression, “Morning. Been up awhile?”

 

“Yeah.” Her hair is down, they note. She tugs a loose strand behind her ear. “I cleaned up some around, since the chores were neglected with how busy we were. Had to sweep up Blair’s cat hair too.”

 

That actually makes them snort, “Impressive, busy bee. I’m going to get dress- maybe once I wake up some we can go do something?”

 

Maka seems slightly surprised- she probably could tell their mood isn’t the best- but immediately hides it, “Of course, that sounds great.”

 

She hurries back toward the kitchen to do whatever she was doing. Soul watches her go for a moment before heading toward the bathroom. It’s a small apartment, with both occupants sharing the same bathroom. It works, so they can’t complain. The one downside is the incredible amount of Maka’s hair ties strewn around it. 

 

Their composure drops once they close the door. As Soul strips down to their boxers, they keep their back to the mirror. The lid is pushed down so they can sit, hands scratching at the area above their heart. Nothing changes except for the addition of a few red fingernail marks. 

 

Running a hand through their hair, Soul knows they desperately need to shower. The question is if they can bring themself to take one, though.  Their teeth feel grimy and nasty, and finally Soul figures that brushing their teeth real quick would be within range.

 

However, that also requires looking at the damn mirror. Already there is doubt of themself, of their life to this point, stirring in the back of their head. Eventually, though, they have to face it. They can get through this. They have before. They will again.

 

Soul closes their eyes as uses muscle memory to get toward the sink. The same hope that was present this morning approaches once more. If they have their eyes close, they are blackness and nothing. They are nothing.

 

They repeat it to themselves, slowly mouthing the words to build courage.

 

They are nothing.

 

They open their eyes.

 

They are nothing.

 

The mirror lies.

 

They are nothing.

 

Looking into the mirror,  _ something  _ reflects back. Something. Why does it have to be something?

 

They are something.

 

One moment, red, fearful eyes are staring back at them. The next, Soul is staring at shards of class. It was an unconscious movement- one they would resist had it not been today. Any day but today. 

 

Why is it so bad today?

 

Glass is everywhere- all over the sink, some still stuck in the wall, some fell in the trash. Faintly, they recognize the few shards stuck in their fist. Soul’s heart is beating too fast and they can’t breath- everything is hurting, trying to hurt  _ them _ \- at once. So much, they don’t even register the slices on their hand.

 

They are aware of everything, too aware, so aware that it makes them sick. As they lean forward on the counter to keep their knees from buckling, glass shards dig into their palms. Soul jerks back and hit the wall, which is surprising cool and stable. Stability is what they need. Their back slides down the surface until they’re sitting still on the ground. 

 

Thankfully, the door opens outwards, or else it would have dug into Soul’s side with painful intensity when Maka forced it open. They hadn’t bothered with the lock, at least. Some internal instinct has them pulling their hands in, clutching their waist to hide. Their chest is a wound up racecar ready to go, and still there isn’t  _ enough air _ -

 

“Soul, Soul! Look at me!”   
  


Maka sits at their side, hands ready to grab them, hug them, do  _ something _ . But she knows not to get too close until permission is granted- she’s smart, she’s dealt with this in herself and them before.

 

Soul obliges, one eye pitifully glancing her way. Maka looks so worried, so scared, like they are a box of glasses. It’s the look in her eye, of both  _ everything will be fine  _ but also  _ please be okay  _ that hits them, and then they’re crying.

 

“Soul, hey- it’s okay. It’s okay. Do you-” She is trying to find the words, find a way to make it right, “Is it okay for me to touch you?”

 

They don’t even have to try to speak to know they can’t. Instead, Soul reaches out with their least injured hand- an invitation, they just don’t want to be alone.

 

Maka catches on instantly and she suddenly seems so big and they are so small. Her arms wrap around their chest, her hand rubbing gentle circles. Her head tilts so Soul can rest their forehead in the crook of her neck. Still, all they think is how much of a mess they are. Maka’s clean and fresh clothes will reek horrible of tears and sweat after and they can’t speak to say how sorry they are.

 

In the end, Soul lean away from Maka first. They struggle for air, closing their eyes as nails again scratched at their chest. Their tears only stop because of the change in focus. They take in large gulps to fill their lungs, releasing almost the same amount. Eventually, their air consumption evens out.

“Soul, it’s okay if you can’t but- can you talk to me about what this was about?” Her words are almost a whisper, “I’m worried about you.”

 

They struggle against crying again, trying to rebuild their composure to at least be able to speak with confidence.

 

“I- I can’t deal with it,” Deep breath, keep the words going and don’t think, “Not an- anymore. That boy that looks at me- e all the time. That boy that says I won’t- won’t ever escape him.”

 

Maka looks at them, and they can tell she’s picking her words carefully. She knows she has to walk carefully

 

Soul talks again in a low voice, though mostly to themself, “I can’t- can’t even take care of myself, can’t look in a damn- damn mirror.”

 

Maka grabs their hand, the one that was offered to her, and brushes her fingers gently over the skin, “No one cares about the mirror- it’s you that’s cared for. What you see in that mirror is so much different than what our friends and I see. We see  _ Soul,  _ who is whoever you want them to be.”

 

Maka knows it takes a lot more than words. It’ll take more than years, for Soul to see themself as they want to see. They may never see themself right. But each day- there’s something getting better, so Soul accepts her words anyway. Words that they hope will cover up the negative ones, to think about the next time.

 

Soul leans their head against the wall, eyes closing at the coolness of the surface. There’s nothing left for them to say, to do- all they can hope is that Maka can sense their appreciation. Maybe they could do something for her later.

 

As the tears on their cheeks dry, the pain in their palms becomes apparent. Honestly, Soul almost had forgotten about it.  _ Would _ have liked to forget about it, at least. They opened their eyes when Maka speaks.

 

“I’m going to grab the first aid kit real quick, okay? I’ll be just a second.”

 

Maka leaves the door open as she runs out, her steps heavy through the apartment. Soul chooses to focus on her, to listen for every breath and word, as she creates a welcomed distraction.

 

She’s back again in seconds, with the clear box beside her. Her hands are warm- but shaking slightly, they note- as she gently observes the cuts. They will the worry and pain behind her eyes away, but there’s not much else to do about it. Her focus on the task is respectable.

 

Soul counts to a hundred, then counts backwards, then upwards again. Maka works away, whispering a ‘sorry’ whenever they flinch. Her fingers are quick and careful while wrapping bandages over the cuts. No words are exchanged, for what would either of them say? 

 

There’s a  _ click  _ as the kit closes once Maka is finished. As she sets it under the sink, her eyes notice the scattered glass.

 

“Hey, I’m going to clean this up, okay?” She gives a tiny smile, “How about you find some breakfast while I’m cleaning? We can watch a movie or something afterwards, if you want.”

 

There are too many words Soul wants to say. Instead, they settle for a gentle nod before exiting. Before they go to the kitchen, however, they scavenge for pen and paper to write a quick note. The finished result isn’t much, but it’s all they can manage. It tells everything they want to say.

 

Maka finds it when she turns in early that night, exhausted and practically asleep on her feet. She doesn’t notice it until it crumples under her weight. Once located, she unfolds it gently, reading the single, large word on the paper.

 

‘ _ thanks _ ’

 

It isn’t much, but it’s enough. Enough for her to smile and know there’s hope still for things to be okay.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Soul awakes to the overly loud ringing the next morning, and finds a murderous intent surfacing.

 

As always, Maka’s feet are quick and light. The phone shuts up soon after, thankfully. They accept that there is no returning back to sleep, so instead they listen to Maka speak.

 

“Morning to you too, Black Star.” He is so dead later, Soul thinks. “What did you call for?”

 

Something stupid, probably. He wants to play basketball. He broke something. He wants to fight someone. Not a good enough reason to wake anyone up so early.

“Oh, Soul? They are still asleep. I can call you back whenever they wake up, okay?”

 

The rest of the conversation is lost to them. For the next few moments, Soul can only repeat the sentence over in their head, savoring in the sound of it. It is so simple, so unordinary, but it feels so  _ right _ . Moments like this feel great, feel worth the years of turmoil and rejection. 

 

They know, of course, that things still will be hard. There will be more days like yesterday, more doubt, more pain. But it’s alright, for they can handle it. They can handle it all, as long as they feel accepted in the end.

 

It’s the first morning in a long time that Soul finds they can get out of bed and look directly into the (new) mirror. 

 

This time, it’s only their reflection that looks back.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a part of a bigger work that details from Soul first discovering they are nonbinary to a few more events after this. This was just a piece out of the work that I felt was the best, since the rest felt too excessive. would there be interest in the full story?


End file.
